Heroes
by Ten Past Twelve
Summary: Meet the quirky and strange crew of the 'Striker of Yggarf' a mercenary vessel that roams the galaxy, looking for things to do. Join them as they navigate through treacherous swamps, blow up libraries, and discover an alternate universe...
1. A Beginning

**Heroes**

**Hey everybody, nice to see that Nightmares is getting some publicity- now, I present to you the story of Commodore Jim of the Yggdoffl Empire and his trusty crew;**

**Jack the Lackey, also a Yggdoffl,**

**Barsnark the Demon, a Tezzok Bear with an attitude, **

**Ripper the Malfunctioning Alliance Droid,**

**Zero the Urthdweller, an aspiring Captain,**

**Terrahawk the Zorg, a GAU Secret Operative,**

**Ambiguous the Zorg, Terrahawks little brother,**

**Lukias, a little Lukian with a big mouth,**

**and General Orven, an Urthclan exile**

**Betcha you've never seen so many made-up words in one place, unless you play Spore...**

* * *

Jim stood on the bridge of his faithful battleship, the _Striker of Yggarf_, Yggarf being Jim's homeworld. Right now he was deciding where he ought to put his colony Incredi-Pak on the surface of Dariache- having narrowed it down to two different, equally favourable places, he was now tryingto narrow it down to one. Site A was up north, which was fine, but the Pak didn't come with snow-rovers. On the other hand, Site B was near the equator, but was far from any oil- the nearest well was two point four tree-lengths away; in other words, five miles. However, both were reasonably close to spice geysers, and as spice was a valuable commodity-

"Terrahawk, what is the current T-Score of this planet?"

"After we terraform it, it should be three."

"Current, you dollop."

"One."

"What? Only one? Well? Don't just stand there, gawking at me- get to work!"

"Er... we need another two species of medium-level plants, and a-"

"What's the nearest inhabited planet in this system, Jack?"

"Typhlo. Would you like me and Terrahawk to visit it in the carrier, Commodore?" the smug voice of the Deputy Captain rang through the room, taunting Terrahawk ever so cruelly.

"Certainly. Carry on." Jim had retreated to his seat, and was now plotting a road system- he didn't even look up as he gave the order.

* * *

As Terrahawk gazed glumly out of the side windows, Jack tapped his crystals.

"What? Don't you know it's the height of bad manners to tap a Zorg's back crystals? It's a measure of age, you know-"

"Shut up and look out of the fore windows, like a good navigator. Isn't it beautiful?" At first, Terrahawk though the Yggdoffl was referring to a speck of dust on the thick diamond-reinforced glass, until he saw a largish circle-shaped object that stood out quite clearly on the starry backdrop of space.

"How far away is that lump of rock?"

"'Bout three or four parsecs."

"What, that far away?"

"Typhlo _is_ the size of Vitron, you know."

"Oh, pleases don't mention that place to me. I still get the milonia'siz* whenever I hear the name."

"Vitron, Vitron, Vitron, Vit-" A large, squarish object made of lead hit the Deputy on the head.

"Shut up!"

* * *

Commander 771 surveyed the excavation.

"How long did you say it would take, 341?"

"Four hundred sectons, Commander." replied the Junior Undersecretary.

"16, I mean Admiral 16, will be pleased, yes indeed. 341, run the SETI again, I want to be sure that none of those annoying little Junior Captains are around."

"Yes, Commander." The corners of 771's mouth twitched, threatening to form a grin at any second. Strictly speaking, as a Commander, he was not to grin, or laugh, or show any signs of emotion at all. But he had only recently been promoted, so he had yet to learn of the many methods employed by his superiors and equals. This was his first ever mission as a Commander, and things were going pretty smoothly. Sure, they had run into a spot of bother with the tribes here, and maybe a few men were lost in fire geysers, but otherwise it was pretty good, at least for a new Commanders' first try. He had heard tales of Commanders being demoted as soon as they were promoted, just because an Admiral had thought that they looked shifty, or they forgot to sheath their sword in front of a higher officer. Yes, advancing up the ranks of the Schendulan army was certainly a tough job, and it just got a whole load tougher for 771.

* * *

Down in the Dry Desert, several thousand Schendulans were mining for Uranium 73, a high-order B-Classified dangerous substance, which their superiors had been searching for deposits of for months. Now they were heaving pickaxes at the sandstone floor, every other hour stooping to pick up a faintly glowing green stone and place it almost lovingly in a Hexa-Crate. Some of the higher-ranked ones had pneumatic drills, but that wasn't a big improvement. The sweltering heat was getting to some of them when finally, from the edge of the clearing came a shout of triumph. All of the Secretaries and the Commander, 771, boarded a hopper and came to take a look.

* * *

Hoppers where fast, yes, but not built for comfort. They basically consisted of two 'legs', that used a complex spring mechanism(to leap long distances or, as a slower alternative, walk), connected to a cockpit that was suspended in midair. The controls were rather basic- just a steering wheel shaped like a square, a lever to adjust the power, and a mini-computer that, when there were passengers inside, was used to plot a course, and when nobody was looking, the drivers used to play 'Space Invaders', the number-one video game on Schendula. So it was a rather shaken-about 771 who stepped out of the vehicle, but not one of the workers or slaves dared comment on how askew his scabbard was, or how bruised he seemed. Perhaps it was his renowned cruelty, or maybe there was still a shadow of his menacing aura. Whatever it was, nobody laughed at him. In fact, the throng of sunburnt miners who had gathered to see the end of their harsh job, if anything, took a step back from their Commander.

"Well? Let's see this."

"Yes, C-c-commander! B-behold, the d-d-desposit, I mean d-depos-sit of Uranium 73!"

"Really? Let me have a closer look," Grabbing an eyeglass from one of his attendants, 771 swooped down onto the unassuming patch of glowing green in the sand, "Yes, it seems quite like it. Okay, then, soldiers! Now we dig again! I want the whole rock uncovered in three hundred and twenty sectons!"

* * *

Terrahawk was whistling cheerfully in the cockpit of the carrier, while Jack, sporting a throbbing violet bruise, shot him malevolent glares of reproach. The Zorg hadn't enjoyed himself this much since the last Junk Race Tournament back on Minoan, his home planet. Seeing as Jack didn't seem to fond of conversation just then, Terrahawk cast his mind back to his old life as a scholar on Minoan, studying terraforming and bioengineering. Good days, he thought.

_Terrahawk had been walking down a street with his friends, Endeavour and Technical, chatting about the Junk Race Finals and Sporeball Games._

"_Did you hear that the Observatory is looking for a Zorg with a level four in Terraforming, and level two in Cleaning, and a level three in Ecology?"_

"_Really?" Everybody knew that the Observatory was in the employ of the mighty Galactic Union. Races from as far away as Zenqua and even Rummynorpe worked there, and the pay reportedly exceeded several thousand Sporebucks for good jobs._

"_Wow. Did you hear why?"_

"_The poster said something about a job as Terraformist on a Yggdoffl craft."_

"_Awesome!"_

_Later that day, instinct made Terrahawk deviate from his normal route to the Feed House and head to the abnormally-shaped building located in the middle of an artificial crater. It was the Observatory._

_Fashioned from large crystals, the Observatory vaguely resembled the shell of a Galvic Turtle, minus the noxious gas that it secreted when threatened. A large cuboid telescoped out from the main frame, supported by a sturdy support cable of zinc and hydrogen. Emerald flames danced in the holders, and Cleaners scurried around the behemoth of a building, sweeping up litter and debris from the floor. Terrahawk strode in through the immense portcullis, and was amazed by the sheer vastness of the interior. Little service mechs circled around the polished floor, and a large machine, dead centre of the whole hall, throbbed and pulsed merrily. Several aliens dashed out of the tower-like structure, which Terrahawk rightly guessed to be a Space Silo. Then, he made his decision. True, he never really liked taking off. Sure, he was half-afraid of supernovae. And yes, maybe he could get the tiniest bit spacesick. It didn't stop him from signing up at the officer's desk._

"Oi! Terrahawk!" Jack's loud voice broke through the Zorg's flashback.

"What is it?" asked Terrahawk, perhaps a little snappily.

"The navicomp's picked up some alien radar signals. Something knows we're here."

"So?"  
"What I'm trying to say here is that we could get into the tiniest of scrapes."

"Were you trying to be sarcastic there? It didn't work."

"Look, just be on guard, okay?"

When the two finally landed amid much bickering and retorts, their scanners went haywire. After a dozen miles or so of slow progress through sandy dunes and craggy landscapes, forests of rock and eroded canyons, a triple exclamation mark appeared in the bottom right of the viewscreen, accompanied by an irritating whine that drilled through their skulls and Terrahawk's exoskeleton.

"Whoah. There is definitely something here."

"Uh... This may not be the time or place, but I have to tell you..."

"What? Are you apologising or something?"

"No, of course not. It's just that you left your backup oxygen tank back in Vacuum Storage."

"You just _had_ to tell me now, didn't you? Great, let's just turn back around and get it." Exasperated, the orange insectivore turning around and trudged back the way they had come.

"Yes, Cap'n!" Terrahawk was hard pressed to keep a straight face all the way.

* * *

Commander 771 was pleased, to say the least. In fact, he had a stupid grin plastered over his distorted, lizard-like face as he pictured the looks on his equals' faces as he showed off the piles of uranium he had uncovered on this unassuming little planet. They would make for excellent bombs and rocket fuel, he decided. Oh yes, and the Admiral would need half. Still enough to power several hundred antimatter missiles, though. He reached over to his comlink to give his boss the good news.

* * *

Admiral 16 was having a bad day. As he sat glumly in his headquarters, awaiting the Emperor's orders, he surveyed the dismal terrain provided by Jasmine. Several years ago, Jasmine was a right jewel in the galaxy, one of those rare worlds that possessed all the qualities that made life possible. However, the arrival of the Schendulan forces quickly changed that, transforming lush, green plains into the desolate landscape that dominated the view. The one thing that kept this planet in one piece, in fact, was that the Admiral was lucky enough to find several vast deposits of pure uranium calcite just below the crust. Now crews of his reptilian species were hard-pressed to dig several thousand miles into the ground within the short space of eighteen months. 16 put his head in his claws. What was he thinking, promising a hundred tonnes of uranium in less than two years? The digging alone would take around fourteen months, leaving only four to collect enough uranium to satisfy the Celebrated. What an idiot-

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. The comlink was playing it's ringtone, the Admiral's favourite song by Djinx Morreni, imaginatively called Ring Ring. Frozen by nervousness, it took 16 a whole minute before he dared open an eye, and ten to extend his scaly palm and activate the hologram.

"Admiral! Hey, wha-"

"Never mind that, 771! What have you called me for?"

"Uh... right!" The Commander regained his previous euphoria and said, "I found the uranium, sir! We'll have four hundred tonnes before the year is out!"

His joyous mood must have been catching, thought 771. If lizards could cry, tears of joy would have splattered across 16's cramped metal office.

"Excellent! Send me the first hundred tonnes you collect!"

"Yes, sir!" Springing backwards into a smart salute, the holographic Schendulan vanished, leaving the Admiral alone with his beautiful joy. Never before had an emotionless killer been so happy and full of mirth that he could barely stand, let alone walk. After five hours of pure joy, 16 began to register that something was wrong. His boss hadn't called yet. Evil and bent on destroying life he may be, the Celebrated 15 did _not_ miss appointments without calling to postpone the meeting first. So then something was amiss. Maybe 15 had died, maybe he had suffered a sudden attack of amnesia, or maybe his craft had been lost in Deep Space without any chocolate for a week, but whatever the cause, this meant promotions. In the official Book of Law (a slim thirty-two page paperback in size fourteen type), Rule Sixteen of Clause Four stated that once a high-ranking official died, his immediate inferior would be given his title. And as the highest ranked Admiral beneath 15, 16 would acquire the title of Fifth Celebrated 16 of the Schendulan Armada, which was only three steps from the title of Grand Omnipotent, the impossible golden bar that all Schendulans slavered for. For the first time that day, 16's face resumed his usual cynical smirk. If he was to get his badge that day, he needed to be as intimidating as possible.

* * *

"Hey, that looks like a good tree!"

"What, where?" Jack looked around wildly, only to realise that Terrahawk was pointing in the opposite direction. The two of them had spent an hour trekking through thorny vines and other painful hazards, looking for ideal plant specimens to transfer into sterile stasis cubes, which kept them in an impenetrable force field of Time until deactivated. As soon as they collected all three different species, they would be free to return to the _Striker of Yggarf_ and report their success, and then terraform the planet Dariache to meet the colonies' standards. Then there would be the simple process of transporting all of the colonisers to the planet surface, after which the _Striker_ would then be free to continue selling it's services to it the highest per usual, things weren't really going according to plan.

For one, neither Jack nor Terrahawk were armed with the correct weaponry to tackle a forest of vines.

"Oh wait, the sensor says that it's more suited to desert temperatures... Hey, hand me the probe, Jack!"

"Which one is that... Oh, you mean this?" asked the Yggdoffl, holding up a purple, long and pointy stick.

"Hey, where'd you get that? That's my Sporeball pole!"

"Oops. Heh heh... Just great. Er... Is it this thingy over here?"

"How did you get my Junk Racing Car's spare wheel? Have you been taking my stuff?"

* * *

Secretary 341 frowned. Her first scan had shown that nothing was travelling towards the planet at all, but her second scan just to make sure revealed the presence of two non-registered life-forms on the planet. This of course meant that the species' in question would have to be eradicated, as they possessed a level three Intelligence at the very least, meaning that they were sentient and dangerous.

Standing up, she made to exit her carefully concealed radio station, switching on her Zap blade as she did so. One of the first things, indeed one of the only things, the old coaches at the Soldier Institution back on Gridion drummed in to their students/victims was that you should always be ready. Always leave your blade within reaching distance. Always be prepared to shed some blood, and, if necessary, guts. Be prepared. Most Schendulan soldiers, in fact, had been taught this so often that turning on their weapons was second nature to them now. Of course, no sword could have deflected the dart dipped in the blood of a Venomous Skroot that killed 341 anyway.

* * *

Pacing around his office, 771 was nervous. One of his higher-ranking officials had just been assassinated, and none of his forensic investigation experts to tell him how, or why. Well, sure, they'd found the dart a-ok. The snag was, though, that the venom found on the tip wasn't even remotely dangerous to a Schendulan, and the sharp blade didn't even break through the scales that protected the fragile skin of the reptile. The experts were all of the opinion that the cadaver had been put in that state by some choking, as there were reports of damage in three of her lungs, but that didn't explain why her fourth lung and trachea were totally unharmed. Something was missing.

A few days later, the Commander found out something that made him even more nervous than before. There were two sentient beings on the planet. True, they were on the western hemisphere. True, they didn't seem to know that there was a mine here, and they probably didn't mean any harm. That didn't stop the native of Quasar from pressing the big red button.

"Captain 63? Captain 63?"

"Yes, Soldier 904? What is it?"

The green Schendulan looked around furtively before continuing. "My scanner's picked up two sentient beings. They're sixty-three degrees north from our current position."

"Take two Expendables and check it out. Captain 63, out."

"Roger that. Soldier 904, out."

* * *

In the vast Schendulan Armada, there are fourteen billion individual soldiers. These soldiers are divided in to seven groups, each headed by a Renowned. Each Renowned is in charge of two billion soldiers, which are separated in to five groups, each led by a Celebrated. This makes four hundred million soldiers per Celebrated, which again are split between ten Admirals, like our mate 16. The forty million soldiers beneath each Admiral is further split into forty factions of a million, all of which are controlled by their own Commander. Commanders have to assign a number of Lower Commanders, Secretaries and Commodores, who all receive a platoon, which basically consists of four hundred or so soldiers. The Secretaries or whatever get to assign who in their platoon is a Soldier, a Captain, or who is an Expendable, although their opinion can be overridden by a higher-ranked official. And in this orderly manner, the soldiers are assigned.

At birth, a Schendulan is given a number and a division. Each army led by a Celebrated is considered a division, so that clocks up to around four hundred million soldiers per division. Soldiers can move division, although that tends to happen only when appointed a rank beyond mere divisions, like Renowned, Omnipotent or even Secret Service. Divisions had their own ranking system, as did the individual platoons inside them. At all major Headquarters, there was a large screen about forty meters wide and forty meters tall displaying which division was currently the highest ranked, and which platoons out of all the divisions were the most successful. Out of thirty-five divisions, the Celebrated 15 led Ore Division, which was top ranked in both most useful whole division as well as best platoon. Seeing as 15 had created a vacancy when he moved up, the guys at Control Panel had to elect a Commander underneath him to take the place of Seventh Admiral. They chose 771.

* * *

Jack frowned as best as he could while hauling butt with his largish wings. Since arriving on the planet, there had been relatively few life forms. Sure, maybe a couple of irritating flies or something had shown up, but for the most part, there was nothing there. It was deserted. At least, until about five minutes ago, when a number of strange mechanical beings had started pursuing them through the forest.

Terrahawk, on the other hand, used his powerful antlers to discharge his chasers while simultaneously digging deep into the loamy ground with his sonic shovel. Within a matter of minutes, he had already dug a trench with sufficient depth to hide or defend himself for at least an hour. Hoisting himself into the hole, he reflected that he had always been more conservative than the Yggdoffl. And now it would pay off.

* * *

"Captain 63. Repeat, Captain – buzz – 63. Can you re – ee – ead me?'

"Roger. What have you got to say for your – flick – self? Five hours in the forest and you still haven't- what in Spode's name are you doing with that gun? That isn't a toy!"

"Kerplonk fjord nine don't green dissolve Viet Na..." Without warning, the Schendulan trooper rammed the musket straight up his right nostril.

"Huh? Nine-oh-four, what is the meaning of this? Nine-oh-"

"I'm a drunk Skroot. Now bye bye!" With that, 904 sliced his arm off and died. Captain 63 frowned. His soldier's records had always shown the late Soldier to have been a very stable character, and while many of his comrades had often went a little overboard with their Karro Bien and gotten severely drunk, 904's maximum alcohol consumption rate was around forty litres a day. And if you think that's a lot, Schendulans have metabolism rates around a hundred times better than humans, so it takes a lot to poison or drug one. Scratching his chest, the way all Schendulans do when they're thinking, 63 tried to figure it out. But although nobody ever told him, one of the reasons he never made it to Commodore rank was that he was, quite simply, too dimwitted. Actually, there were lots of reasons, like how his bad breath was a dead liability in hunts, and his weird habit of chewing the scales on his arm when nervous. But it was mainly his foolishness and his inability to see the obvious that kept him from acquiring the rank of Commodore.

Back to the point, 904 was dead, and he was one of the best in the platoon- so obviously something was out there, killing the soldiers, one by one. 63 didn't know what it was- only that he was going to kill it before another star soldier died.

* * *

Inside his little cave up on the mountainside, a Gremlin cackled gleefully. His new data-scrambling machine had worked perfectly, and now the soldiers were under the impression that 904 had gone insane and died. Actually, he had gone insane and died, but that was of little concern to the demon. Flicking on his Traveller, the Gremlin returned to the Timeless World, a dimension where time flowed upwards rather than forwards.

* * *

**Okay, hope you liked this. If you want to see any of these creatures, just go to terrahawkthezorg's Sporepedia and find my page (search terrahawkthezorg for optimal results). Once on my page, click "see all of this player's creations" and look for stuff.**

**Oh, and if you want to check out the little Gremlin at the end, it's under the name "Gremlin".**

**Finally, I'd just like to say that I do not own Spore-****or anything else, for that matter.**

***Melonia'siz is rudimentary Zorgian for 'bejeebies'.**


	2. Taking Typhlo

**Heroes**

**A Spore Fanfic**

**Hi everybody, I'm back from the grave and ready to write!**

**This chapter proves the superiority of writing to TV, because if you wanted to recreate this on the box, your budget would have to be about the same size as Obama's controversial health bill. This is _not_ a hyperbole.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Spore. That honour goes to Maxis and EA.**

* * *

"Hey, where'd Jack and Terra get to?" asked Ambiguous, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I sent them on a retrieval mission on-"

"Commodore Jim, a manned carrier with severe structural damage is requesting permission to board. Will you admit them?"

"Send me a report on the damage." The monitor quickly shifted to display a graph and several blocks of text in Ydd, the language of Yggarf and the entire Yggdoffl nation. A ripped cargo bay hull, crushed right thruster and a number of scorch marks.

"Commodore, still requesting answer."

"Yes, that'll be them," grumbled Jim under his breath, "They could never keep a craft in one piece."

* * *

In the docking bay, two badly injured creatures were ejected unceremoniously from the carrier they had been piloting and dumped into a medical android, which then proceeded to take them to the smallish hospital unit.

"Anaesthetics?" General Orven glanced at his aide, Barsnark, and sighed. The Tezzok Bear was carrying a large wooden sledgehammer. "Do we have anything that _won't_ bruise him for a month?"

"No, sir." The violent bear was positively grinning now.

"Very well," conceded the birdlike alien, "Just make sure he doesn't wake up for another twelve hours, okay?" The answering smash could be heard from the other side of a missile-proof titanium door, but it sure as hell knocked out the wounded Yggdoffl.

* * *

Several days later, Jack groaned. Despite the fact that all of the injuries he had suffered on Typhlo had healed, a throbbing bruise the size of a Burlik Fruit still resisted all efforts of the inept medical team to remove it, although personally Jack thought that he would be better off without their 'help'. Jim, on the other hand, was rather interested in Terrahawk's story, which for some reason ended with Jack peeing himself while the Zorg heroically shoved him on board the carrier.

"Are you sure that there were Schendulans involved?"

"Yes, Commodore."

"Well, we might need to contact Union authorities about this- it looks to me like you two stumbled upon a mining operation."

"Really?" The Zorg was impressed; he too had guessed that the Schendulans had been mining for something, although he couldn't be sure what.

"Yes. Computer, dial nine-oh-seven-oh-three-four-eight-nine-oh-seven. Message begins: Urgent message to the Higher Admiral Kalate, of the Galactic Adventures Union. The spaceship _Striker of Yggarf_ has discovered a Schendulan operation on a planet in Beta Section that has been named Typhlo by the current holders of the system. Please arrive as soon as possible, preferably with reinforcements- we will storm the fortress on the planet within twelve sectons of the creation of this message. Thank you, Commodore Jim of the Yggdoffl Empire out."

* * *

"So we're going to attack an army of bloodthirsty lizards?" asked Ambiguous, incredulous.

"Unfortunately, yes." replied his older brother, Terrahawk.

"What are you talking about? This'll be _awesome_. I'm so hyped up I want to punch somebody!"

"You normally want to punch somebody, Bar-" The Yggdoffl deputy's wry remark was cut short when a large paw flattened him, adding another bruise to his skull. After watching his unconscious form for approximately three seconds, Terrahawk grinned and told Ambiguous to wake him up. Another three seconds later, Jack leapt from the floor, drenched to the bone with ice-cold water. Hastily, Ambiguous shoved his incriminating bucket into Barsnark's clumsy paws, and Jack, making the natural assumption, lunged for the bear- disorientated as he was, he had not only missed the young Zorg giving the bucket to Barsnark, he had also missed Terrahawk's sudden and inexplicable acquisition of a large and heavy stick.

"There's something bad behind me, right?" That was when Terrahawk added to Jack's collection of head injuries. "Ow." It was all the orange creature could say before the floor rushed up to meet him and he fainted- again.

* * *

"Admiral 771? Four C-Class carrier craft have just entered the stratosphere."

"Commander 861, prepare your unit to open fire. Experimental Division will be around soon."

"Yes, Admiral!" The said Commander picked up his other comlink and gave the relevant orders to his unit. "Artillery, prepare for aerial fire. They cannot reach the base." Then there was an ominous ka-chink as several hundred foot soldiers and tanks loaded their guns, missile launchers and pretty much every other kind of firearm available. The first craft crash-landed a mile west, so that was where First Squad headed. They had been instructed on the best method to take down opponents from the Union. Hit the powerhouse first, try and kill him or severely wound him. The others' self-pride will then get them slaughtered. Of course, they weren't banking on the incoming not having a powerhouse. And some might have said that they had no pride either, although that's really just a matter of opinion.

* * *

Jim emerged from his landing pod.

"Okay, team, this is what'll happen. First, we try and blow up the enemy's satellites and communication, 'cause the enemy bases appear to be set to a frequency that is secure, but hard to change. Then we'll take the nearest base to here, the beta base, and then use anything we find there to attack the main base. Any questions?" Barsnark put his hand up. "Yes, Barsnark, you _can_ kill them if they punch you in the-"

"Sir, why is there a sign that says 'Kick me' on your back?"

"What? What sign?" Reaching with his claws, Jim found the piece of shoddy parchment and glared at his crew. "Well? Who did it?"

Everybody stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact. Finally, Ambiguous owned up.

"Sir, it was Terrahawk."

"What? Big, what in Spode's name are you going on about?" yelled the said Zorg indignantly.

"Well actually it was Terrahawk and me. But mostly Terra-"

"Big, if you shut up, I might reconsider my spur-of-the-moment decision to rip your head off while setting you on fire."

"It was me." Ambiguous finished meekly.

"You know what? Forget it. Just go out there and blow up some Schendulan butt." The crew grinned broadly at this, and started running out of the crater.

"Zero, set up some turrets. Terra, take a vacuum-ray and spice things up a little with an Epic or two. Ambiguous, target the bases. Orven, set up some of your traps, and Barsnark- for Spode's sake, just kill everybody."

"Can do, cap'n."

"Let's go!"

* * *

The front line were massacred by an unexpectedly potent shower of eggs landing on top of their heads and somehow maiming them horribly, courtesy of Orven. Barsnark pulled out a couple of large and apparently heavy clubs from his backpack and started braining people, while Zero fired small grenades above the enemies' heads and into the oncoming ranks of evil lizards, and Terrahawk was taking biological warfare to a whole new level, hauling Rapid-Growth-Capsules at anyone who came close to him, which had a tendency to explode into big things whenever somebody touched them. In short, the lizardy-things were _screwed_. Unfortunately, the Schendulans had an advantage in that there were millions of them, and soon the token force was beginning to tire. Notwithstanding, it was soon a one on one between Barsnark, the only person on the crew who seemed to still be able to stand, and some ugly brute of a Schendulan.

Barsnark yelled and slammed his fist into the unyielding stone of the desert floor. Somehow he avoided breaking his fist while simultaneously causing a large earthquake, and a shockwave sent the ugly lizard soaring into a cliff wall. The crew nearly started cheering, had it not been for a large and scary energy blade narrowly missing cutting off Jack's head. Actually, the Zorgs did start cheering when that happened, because a near-death experience for the Deputy counted as a win for them anyway. The rest of the crew stared in shock as the bear that they all knew as the Demon began hurling boulders at his opponent, and the Schendulan dodged them almost gracefully. Then Barsnark abandoned all subtlety and threw something else at the lizard- namely, his fist. During the few seconds that his foe was dazed, Barsnark growled and summoned a ball of fire in his right palm- the mystical tribal ability of the Carnivores.

"Tribal Power! Fire Bomb!" Flames poured from his hand, pummelling into the Schendulan, who was knocked backwards and off his feet. During the brief respite, Barsnark retrieved his twin maulers from a nearby pile of rubble and spat fire at his opponent, who had pulled out a shield from nowhere, much like his other weapons. The fire did absolutely nothing to the blocker, but while the lizard was still holding it up, Barsnark drew up ever closer. Then the shield came down and the Schendulan yelled.

The lizard pulled out an electric dagger and thrusted it into his foe's ribs- at least, that was the plan. But the Tezzok Bear, showing surprising agility on his part, dropped both of his maulers and grabbed not only the Schendulan's sword-claw but also his long and evil-looking tail. His victory was short-lived, though, as the lizard's other arm came rushing up at his foe's chin in a painful uppercut. The bear stumbled backwards, giving the Schendulan enough time to pull out another underhanded trick- this one a giant of a sabre, and the lizard was barely able to avoid taking his own head off with it.

"I think I'll take that," Barsnark told the Schendulan, "You could hurt somebody."

On the sidelines, Terrahawk smiled wryly.

"The scary thing is that I don't reckon he's joking."

* * *

After about five minutes of victorious partying, a horde of strange creatures swarmed over a nearby hill, stopping about fifteen metres from the abruptly halted crew.

"What the f-" Terrahawk never managed to finish his sentence, frozen solid by a grey and black version of a C'Servoid trooper.

"Talk about party poopers- bring it on!"

* * *

Almost seventeen minutes after Jim said that memorable line, his crew was beginning to regret even going to Typhlo in the first place. At least the first wave had ended- this was a continuous stream of violent aliens yelling about the 'enemies of the Assimilax'. Put frankly, even Barsnark was tired of the fighting. So obviously he did the obvious and set fire to everyone in a two metre radius.

"Tribal Power! Fire Bomb!" It proved surprisingly effective, downing pretty much all the foes it hit, and wounding others pretty badly.

"Snark, try a Raging Roar!" bellowed Terrahawk from the other side of the canyon. He had recovered from his brief freezing spell and was discharging foes with his own bio-power, Black Cloud. Basically it summoned a pitch black cloud that not only blinded the foe, but also caused their weaponry to fail and break down temporarily. Ambiguous had mind-melded a troupe of the soldiers, and was telling them to fight and whatnot, but even with all of these minor advantages, they were hard pressed to stay alive and soon were driven backwards into a rock wall. Still the crew fought, even as Ambiguous was knocked out and Jack thrown across the gorge. It seemed all was lost, when a large and very heavy claw came out of nowhere and squashed all of the foes present, as well as blocking others from entering. All in all, it was a very convenient arrangement. Or it would have been if Jack wasn't stuck on the other side of the claw in the midst of crazy soldiers clamouring for blood.

* * *

"Do we actually _have_ to save that git?" I whined, appealing to my brother Terrahawk. It was approximately three hours after the claw had landed, separating us from our foes as well as Jack.

"Jim says so, so there's your answer. Besides, Jack _does _have a use- he makes a good punching bag when I'm bored." In reply, I pouted and turned away. On the other side of the claw, we heard Jack call something out.

"What was that?"

"I heard that!" he repeated.

"Watcha gonna do about it?" At which point Jack surprised us all by appearing on top of the claw, trying to grin as he fought back fatigue and tiredness. But our surprise at his seemingly super-Yggdoffl effort was nothing compared to the shock we felt when a horde of black-furred things with red stripes swarmed behind him, knocking the deputy off his feet and onto us.

"Ow, get off my back," grunted Barsnark in between taking Spode's name in vain and generally swearing rudely.

* * *

"And then these guys came tumbling down on the opposition, with all these blowdarts and whatnot, and then one of them- their chief, no less-"

"How come I get the feeling that Jack's head just got bigger?" grumbled Terrahawk.

"Probably because it did. And in more than one way at that."

"What are you talking about, Orven?"

"He has at least twelve bruises on his skull. Three of them came from before our skirmish. Can you think why that is?" As soon as his sentence was finished, Terrahawk suddenly decided to get up and buy another cup of Burlik Juice. We were on the ship, and several Union forces had just entered orbit, and one craft had checked into our docking bay. Now the crew of the _Acronym_ were listening to Jack recount his adventure on Typhlo the third time over, but for some reason it engrossed the people each time- almost as if he told something different every time round. Which he did, very well if you please. Or very badly, if you count subtlety and craftiness as the master arts of exaggeration.

* * *

"Woot! We got a blue giant!" The victorious cry had come at approximately 3.00 Earth time. Now it was 15.00, and the crew of _Lady Asparagus_ was still going strong. They had taken seven months to reach the solar system, and another month to locate the star. Finally, they had taken three nanoseconds to launch an SPM- Solar Pulverising Missile- and destroy the star they had spent eight months searching for. The reason? _Lady Asparagus_ was currently in the employee of the McDonald's fast food chain- I'm sure you've heard of it- and they were being paid millions- billions- of dollars to create an advertisement that no-one who wasn't blind could forget. They were blowing up stars. The idea was that they could blow up certain stars to create a massive message etched on the skies of the planet Earth- MCDONALD'S IS THE BEST. This insanely large tattoo on the skies would be visible from any point on Earth with a view to the heavens, and it would last all of five months, just for the record. In other words, it would be an almost useless waste of trillions of dollars in a lethal advertising campaign. Any one of the seven hundred spacecrafts commissioned by mission control could crash into some space debris, or be vaporised by rogue gamma rays, or attacked by technologically advanced aliens. A dangerous mission, but the pay was good. The pay was _excellent_. A whole billion dollars a month just to be a janitor, and a hell lot more if you were assigned as the captain of a ship!

* * *

Joanne Sharp sat bolt upright in her bunk, only to hit her head on the low metal ceiling and wake up her roommate, the inestimable Alexandria Bolt.

"What the hell woke you up this time? Bad dreams or something?" For someone who had just been jolted out of her sleep by the beautiful sound of aluminium on skull, Alex was remarkably alert. Back to the story, Joanne nodded meekly in reply. She had just seen her best friend for eight months die a horrible and painful death at the hands of the Aliens. Aliens were horrific beasts that had six arms, two of which were tipped with creepy, scythe-like appendages, two of which ended in alarming biological cannons that could fire a strange, acidic substance, and two dexterous paws. They had a pretty horizontal build, although since they stood about three metres tall- not counting their enormous tails- it didn't really affect their height. They had three eyes placed on top of sharply hooked beaks, and their beaks were made out of something very hard. And their tails... Their tails were extremely thick and held almost like a scorpion's, starting off as thick as their torsos, and tapering into a bizarre organ at the very end, that was essentially an organic pincushion connected to a pair of insectoid wings. The spikes in the 'pincushion' were apparently extremely toxic, although neither of the girls had actually seen the poison's effects. The wings were, put bluntly, wings. Although they were a little weak, the wings could lift a fully-grown Alien in to the air with little or no strain, and they could also use the wings to glide.

But no nightmare could compare to the one slightly stuck in the doorway, hampered by it's scorpion tail and large shoulders. Three eyes swivelled to the horrorstruck teenagers, recognised their species, and prompted the vocal cords of the creature to vibrate air in the form of soundwaves, which then passed through a complex speech translation device that converted the vibrations into English.

"Er... Could I have some help, please?"

* * *

**Who here has guessed what these 'Aliens' are? If you even _think _about quoting Predator, you die. Simple as that. Well, hope you guys liked it!**

**A/N: Oh, and I'm putting this story aside for about a week to work on other fics, so expect an update in a fortnight. Or longer, really. Punctuality is a virtue, but lateness is my life!**


	3. Explosions and Reflections

**Heroes**

**Sorry for the late update and all, but I was working on Targets and it took up a large chunk of my spare time. Combine that with trying to win those fixed morphology challenges for Darkspore, and suddenly I have no time anymore! But this is a Christmas present to all you readers out there. Look out for Christmastide references and cunning puns! (or should I say punning puns.)**

0

The screen that dominated one wall of the cockpit of the Striker of Yggarf flickered into life, displaying the visage of none other than Admiral Vega, the commander-in-chief of Sector B, the second largest chunk of Yggdoffl-space.

"Jim! Get your lazy beak over here!" he ordered, jolting the Commodore from dreams about evil refrigerators and into the cockpit, his third eye still gummed shut with sleep. When he realised who he was in the presence of (a good minute later), he sunk to his knees and performed the ritual of respect, which ended in passing his left arm-blade over his head, narrowly missing his nightcap.

"Sir, what brings you here?" he asked, apprehensive.

Vega sighed and closed his middle eye, a gesture of annoyance in their culture. "It is with little to no regret that I hereby declare you demoted from the position of Commodore. You are now returned to the status of a Captain, and must therefore be given a mission to assert your new position." Here he paused, possibly to analyse Jim's reaction and expression. The ex-Commodore was squeezing all three of his eyes shut, as if wishing that it was all a terrible nightmare and that he would wake up very soon. "As the only member of the Galactic Alliance in this area, not counting the crews of six surveillance drones in orbit around Marshgaff, I charge you with the official task of convincing the Earl of Grentle Marsh to enrol his son in the Orbital Academy of Orlaker. I will be sending directives to you immediately. The Earl will know of your arrival. Mission accepted?"

Jim let out a noise not unlike the sound of a rapidly deflating balloon. "I suppose I'll have to," he sighed.

0

From an outsider's point of view, the slightly battered entry craft tearing through the atmosphere of Marshgaff was completely fine, if a little slow. The creatures inside it, however, had something very rude to say to the engineer who had designed the thing.

"Remind me why we're doing this again," shouted Zero over the roar of the thrusters and the incessant rattling of the loose metal grille that was supposed to allow fumes from the interior engine to escape the craft. All it really did was provide a skull-shattering headache to whoever was next to it, in this case Zero. Jim didn't bother answering, occupied as he was with the computer in control of the whole machine.

"Setting course to vectors two thousand and ten – twelve – twenty-five," intoned the headset jammed backwards on the Yggdoffl's beaked head.

"What? No! That's the location of Typhlo!"

"Setting course to vectors one-hundred-and-twenty-six – forty-three – eighteen," replied the ancient LV-34 make of entry craft. This took Jim a minute to figure out, but before it could complete the operation, he hastily denied it, which was just as well, considering that one-hundred-and-twenty-six-forty-three-eighteen was located within Schendulan space. A spot of turbulence, caused by a gigantic storm in the upper troposphere of the planet, sent the craft corkscrewing in the general direction of Marshgaff's smaller moon, Giizus. According to official Alliance estimates, Giizus was home to some twelve thousand venomous creatures, including the feared Swamp Dragon that the solar system in general was known for. There were only twelve thousand species of animal and plant life on the moon in the first place.

"Zero, reverse thrusters! I do _not_ want to have to deal with Rak'monga on an empty stomach!" screeched the Captain. With no small degree of trepidation, the Nerbian twisted the lever in command of the thrusters, which in turn swivelled the twin exterior engines a hundred and eighty degrees, to face the moon that they were unwillingly heading towards. This generated a creaking, scraping sound, causing both beings inside the compartment to clap limbs over their ears and pray to the gods of Ygg and Trevor for their lives to end less painfully.

0

Back on the Striker, Orven noted the absence of a bottle of Burlik Juice in the fridge. The stuff was poisonous to a wide variety of races, although most species from Urth and other Zone Three planets found it highly nutritious and tasty, in the same way the mangoes killed anything that did not come from the third rock from Sol. Ambiguous and Terrahawk, both having come from a Zone Three planet themselves, would have been the prime suspects of thievery, except that they hated Burliks with passion.

"Okay guys, who took it?" asked the general, turning to face the crew. In an ordinary absence of captain, the leader of the crew would have been the deputy captain, Jack. But on this ship, the _de facto_ deputy was Orven, a fact largely attributed to the point-blanc refusal of the Zorg brothers to accept Jack as the leader, temporarily or not.

None of them would face the Urthclan exile, choosing to examine the floor tiling or the backs of their hands. Finally Ambiguous spoke up. "I haven't stolen anything in the past..." He did a quick calculation. "Thirty-six hours," he announced proudly. "If it was there yesterday, I had nothin' to do with it."

"Thirty-" Terrahawk grabbed his brother roughly by the shoulders and twisted him so that they were nose to nose, and Big was on his toes. "Where did you put my comics?"

0

Almost as soon as the thrusters had settled into their new positions, the entry craft rocketed downwards at a trajectory of precisely sixty-three angles from their current position to the planet surface, at a speed of maybe five thousand and eighty miles per hour. Steel and aluminium plating was starting to peel off of the nose of the craft, and the ends of the thrusters were shrivelling up from the green flames that had mysteriously appeared all over the back of the machine. All the while, the computer, having somehow gotten stuck on the intergalactic stock exchange channel, was droning on about the dropping prices on Dionon, some distant outpost of the Yggdoffl Empire. Exciting as it was, there was considerable relief when the computer engine exploded violently at the back of the craft.

But now a high-pitched whine was making itself known, causing the travellers' eyes to water, and their ears to attempt to commit suicide with several pounds of trinitrotoluene. Though they did not know it, the whine was coming from the rapidly melting radar equipment, which also happened to be giving off a similarly destructive noise on the infrared frequency, which essentially screwed up every single infrared receiver in a fifty-five mile radius. That would have been fine, if a little bit of a headache to any androids around, but a certain greeting committee in a certain aircraft designed to welcome a certain diplomacy mission also used a certain infrared receiver not only to navigate, but to communicate too. This is what caused not just a spectacular crash some five miles south of the self-destructing craft (where they had intended to land) but also more white noise inside the entry craft, adding to the likelihood of critical ear and cranial damage.

The worst part was that they couldn't even hear their own last words.

0

Quite oblivious to the plight of their captain and main technician, the five crewmembers left on board were partaking in a violent slaughter-fest, really just Barsnark and Terrahawk attempting to strangle Big while Orven looked on, slightly amused but still frustrated. Jack was nowhere to be seen, although that was most likely better than the alternative. Just as the Tezzok Bear was wrapping his victim in reinforced titanium chains manufactured in a factory down on Bizznik, Ferna, the refrigerator began to tremble. As one furious-turned-scared alien, the four tipped over a steel table and garrisoned themselves behind it, turning it to face the fridge and then pulling it back against a steel wall.

"What do we do?" asked Ambiguous, teeth chattering and safely sandwiched between two reflective materials.

Orven thought it over. "We need to send someone to the weapons store and get us some pulsers," he decided.

"And just who do we send?" he continued, afraid that he already knew the answer.

"You," answered the other three instantly.

"I was afraid of that."

0

Just as the younger Zorg left the room, reluctance rolling off of him in almost physical waves, the fridge door swung open, and the monster ran after him. It was unlike anything they had ever seen, covered in a strange white substance they supposed was it's skin. It had no visible heads, mouths, or even eyes, and strange sounds tore from it every few seconds. It was half a metre tall. All of this added up to unadulterated terror.

"Run, Big, run!" yelled his older brother. "Run for your bleeding life!"

"I wonder if he'll escape," the general mused after a while, earning a searing glare from Terrahawk. For all of their disagreements, they were still brothers. In less than six sectons (one secton is about a hundred Earth seconds), the three hiding behind the table observed sounds of pulser fire and several tinny impacts, like the kind you get when someone slips on floor polish and slides into an inconveniently placed wall at a high speed. In less than a tenth of a secton, Ambiguous bounded into the room, one arm grasping a couple of pulsers and the other one spewing a continuous stream of oil- floor grease. It didn't seem to be aimed anywhere, but in time it took for Ambiguous to land just in front of the table, the entire floor was completely covered in grease. Naturally, the Zorg slipped and somersaulted through the air once again, his finger still pressing down on the release trigger of the bottle. By the time the others had managed to prise his hand from the bottle, the entire room was covered in the grease. The cleaning droids used it as floor polish. The walls were very reflective.

0

Jack extracted himself from the soot-covered wreck of the entry pod, cursing under his breath in his native tongue. Zero had already escaped from the mess of half-melted metal and plastic, and was busy rummaging in the safe that had somehow survived three explosions and the same amount of noise pollution that a huge metropolis like Fira or Kllon could expect in a particularly noisy century. With a large degree of shock and awe, the technician found the combination lock almost completely intact, and when he tore the door off it's hinges with a small bomb, he was even more surprised to find all of the hydrogen and carbon dioxide tanks safe and secure.

"Jack, here's your tank, and here's the mouthpiece," mumbled Zero, holding out the two apparatus with a hand while donning his own. Although the air of Marshgaff was somewhat breathable, the planet was home to all too many parasites and bacteria, for some reason unfathomable to even the most educated scientist. Until they got to civilisation (which could take some time, considering current circumstances), they would have to rely on bottled air.

0

"Hey, Big?"

"Yeah?" Ambiguous was attempting to reload his pulser, with little by way of success.

"There are only three pulsers here."

The younger Zorg glanced up. "No kidding?"

"No joke," replied his brother. "Are you sure that you-"

"Oh, _crezax_!" Ambiguous jumped to his feet. "I must have dropped one of them!"

In another situation, like, say, hiding behind a table with all four deadly weapons that had been removed from the weapons cupboard safely in their hands, maybe Terrahawk would have told Big off for swearing. As it was, Terrahawk merely joined in.

"_Crezax_! Why, Big, why? Why in the name of _Mias_ did you do that?" he moaned, before dissolving into mad laughter. Brasnark, who'd been inspecting the power cell of his own pulser a little way off on his own, glanced up. "What's going on?"

"The bloody shrugger actually dropped one of the pulsers," explained Orven, as Terrahawk was having hysterics and Big was futilely trying to calm him down.

"So?"

"The monster probably has it by now." Realisation dawned on the bear as the sound of weaponised light rebounding off walls and floors reached his ears, before flying before his very eyes in some terrifying parody of pyrotechnics. Then again, most species would probably never have even considered shooting coloured fire into the air, let alone put it into practice, so maybe that's not the best simile. To the point, the monster had a pulser. The floors and walls- and parts of the ceiling, too- were coated in a copious amount of floor polish. The metal the ship was made out of was very reflective.

0

The Yggdoffl and his Nerbian subordinate were very lucky, in that they were able to hitch a ride on a crawler that was heading to Old Grentle, where the Earl was supposed to be for his summer holidays, before heading down to Hidsk for his autumn holidays. The two diplomats were unlucky in that the driver of the crawler was charging ridiculous prices.

"A hundred sporebucks? For a five mile journey? You kid me." Jim was shaking his head in denial, hand clamped firmly shut on his wallet.

"Well, sir, it would seem very- how you say- awful if you were left to rot on this road. As it is, my fee is remarkable low," said the Horcurnid in his shabby Marshian, hand clamped equally firmly on his crawler door.

"How about fifty?" suggested Zero.

"Eighty."

"Forty."

"Sixty."

"Thirty."

"Fifty."

"Done," said Jim. "Done, done and _done_."

"Very good. You may enter. Old Grentle you wanted?" The crawler door swung open to admit the two travellers. "Old Grentle you'll get."


End file.
